


Compass

by AKAuthor



Series: Mine [9]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Daryl's Perspective, M/M, Rick and Daryl have that sexual tension they need to resolve, Rick and Daryl need to admit their feelings, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5334668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKAuthor/pseuds/AKAuthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU. Daryl's compass is locked onto Rick, but is Rick's compass for Daryl?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compass

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so I wrote this and here you go.  
> Lovely hearing from you all, and knowing what you would like to read.  
> Cheers to Blacktree for the compass concept.

A matt black compass swivelled its needle on Daryl Dixon’s inner wrist. From his position on the upper-level catwalk, the hunter traced a line from his wrist to the Sherriff in plaid, cleaning his gun on the table as rain sheeted down outside, the resounding noise resembling static in its monotony.   
Rick never once looked up at him, never once followed the path of his compass, in fact, Daryl had hardly ever seen Rick regard his soulmate tracker, not once at the farm, or the quarry, and very rarely while on the run during the winter months.   
Daryl’s heart yearned for its completed half, beating lonesome down below, its owner cleaning a gun. There was fear, naturally, that his compass was broken, or damaged, or was somehow locked onto Rick but Rick’s was not tracking him. Daryl didn’t want the pain of an unreturned soulmate bond confirmed.   
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Daryl sighed and slung his crossbow over his shoulder, making for the door on the lower level, fancying a spot of hunting despite the merciless rain. As he approached the door, however, a hand closed around his swinging wrist, tightly cuffing it and pulling the arm and body attached to face the puller.

Rick held an expression of wary disappointment and disapproval. His eyes were trained on Daryl’s, and the pulse rapidly beating under his fingertips was desperately ignored. 

“Where are you going?” Rick asked, voice low and it tugged, oh how it ripped at Daryl’s chest and bowed his body to conform to Ricks…

“Out. Hunting,” Daryl hissed, eyes wonderingly wet. Rick’s eyes narrowed in turn.

“No. You’re not. It’s too dangerous,” he declared albeit softly, not noticing of himself pulling Daryl closer. Daryl closed his eyes, willing anger or sadness or rage to overthrow the waves of pain wracking his mind and body. 

“What’s it matter to you?” Daryl spat, fake hate colouring his words falsely. Rick sighed, and the hand clasping his wrist released and went to his own sleeve, folding the fabric up Rick’s forearm. Rick closed his eyes and allowed his compass, a stunning white and gold print, needle quivering at Daryl, to be revealed.   
Daryl smiled, and frowned, and was happy and sad. He kept his eyes one Rick’s face, pale and drawn.

“I thought you didn’t need me,” Rick muttered. Daryl shook his head and closed the gap between them, sealing them in an airtight embrace. His cheek was pressed to Rick’s curly hair, tears burning behind blue eyes, as Rick relaxed, finally, against a chest with a wet thumping life hiding beneath it’s hard and scarred exterior.


End file.
